Page 47 of Waters that Drown Us
“Since this is your first kill, I’ll make it easy for you,” Ilya instructs patronizingly, reaching for his blade again. He cuts Alice’s feet free first, keeping a hand on her body to hold her to the chair. He’s strong—stronger than me—but I’m certain it’s the threat of the violence his hand brings that keeps her in place.
When Ilya stands to start on her wrists he coughs once, his balance wavering for a moment. He swallows hard, steadying himself, and my eyes flicker to Alice. She’s watching him carefully, that neutral, protective expression on her face again. Not nearly as afraid as she seemed moments ago.
“I’ll put this gun in your hand, but don’t think for a moment you can—” his monologue is cut off by another round of coughing. The hand holding the knife presses into his stomach, and he nearly doubles over.
I don’t understand what’s happening, but Alice seems to. Far in the distance, I hear a creak, almost completely covered by the sound of Ilya’s hacking. Neither he nor Alice turn toward the sound, and I desperately pray it’s not some wayward landlord or security guard coming to check out all the ruckus. I do not have the bandwidth for more innocent lives to protect.
“What did you do?” Ilya asks, brandishing his knife at Alice. I’d be worried for her safety, but Ilya looks like he’s about to pass out, sweat dotting his forehead as he stumbles a few steps backwards. Alice maintains that carefully neutral expression, surveying his every twitch like I would a research subject in my lab back in Boston. Whatdidshe do?
“Me?” she asks, adopting the patronizing, sardonic tone Ilya was using on her. “How could I do anything, Ilya? I’m nothing but a tool at your disposal.”
He sways on his feet again, reaching for the small of his back but missing his gun. I fear he’s going to start shooting wildly, or lunging at us with that very sharp blade. He may be inexplicably disoriented, but I’m still bound, no matter how hard I try to slip my wrists from the snare.
A struggle Alice apparently does not share, because she’s standing in front of him now, hands completely free from the rope that lays on the ground behind her chair. Ilya swipes wildly toward her, but she dodges easily. He stumbles over the empty bucket he used to rouse me, the clanging of metal on concrete so unnaturally loud as it echoes through this empty warehouse. I hear steps to my nine o’clock, and I pray to all the saints my father ever told me of that a friendly—or at least, familiar—face is here.
Alice spits on Ilya’s face, and he turns to vomit on the floor next to him.
“You spoiled…deranged little…bitch,” Ilya curses through heaves and gags, the stench of bile and rotten food permeating the room. I hold back a gag, but Alice seems completely unaffected.
“You really shouldn’t have used a knot my father taught you,” she chides, stepping on his hand until he lets go of the blade clutched in it with a cry. She kicks it away, though far fromwhere I’m still bound, which is both annoying and informative. She doesn’t want me free.
Reasonable.
“I hope this death is slow and painful,” she whispers at him, using her bare foot to push his hip up. He tries to grab at her leg, but she easily shakes him off, flipping him over on his stomach with a hard kick. “I hope your organs fail inside your body slowly, so you can taste the blood that will drown you. I hope you beg for death, like you made so many others do without mercy. And I hope you feel every ounce of the fear and pain I did when you told me I’d die just like my mother—used until worthless.”
Ilya’s shallow, gasping breaths, broken only by gagging and coughing, fill the warehouse and echo off the walls as Alice leans down and pulls the handgun from his waistband. I wonder what the fuck our shadowed visitor is waiting for as Alice rolls her shoulders, cracks her neck, and turns the gun on me.
“Explain.”
Despite my confusion, fear, nausea, pain, and a thousand other feelings rolling around in my chest, I can’t help but notice how good Alice looks with a gun in her hand.
“I don’t think I’m the only one who has some explaining to do,” I accuse, raising my eyebrows at Ilya’s twitching, writhing frame. Alice looks unaffected.
“I thinkI’m the only one with a gun,” she replies cooly, disengaging the safety to make her point. Kinda hot.
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
Oh thank god, it’s Bea.
Alice swivels in place, aiming her weapon right where Bea is emerging from the shadows. I look over my shoulder and throw her a grin that’s meant to conveyoops, sorry, fucked up pretty bad here, please don’t kill her.
“Who the hell areyou?” Alice demands, her aim unwavering and not an ounce of fear in her eyes as she faces the barrel ofBea’s gun. I’m starting to think the quivering, helpless act was all for Ilya’s benefit.
“My cousin,” I say, before Bea shoots back some half-answer that will only piss Alice off more. I think we’re past subterfuge at this point.
“I suppose I don’t have to ask if what he said was true, then,” she bites, glaring at me like she’d kill me with the look if she could.
“He left some key details out, which I’d like to explain, if possible,” I plead, watching Bea out of the corner of my eye. I don’t exactly trust her not to kill Alice on the spot, utility to our mission be damned.
“She gets her explanation when we get ours,” Bea says with finality, raising Alice’s hackles. Which, of course, was Bea’s goal. Ever the instigator.
“I think I’m owed a bit more than that, seeing as I’ve apparently been used as a disposable pawn between your family and my father for the last few weeks,” she argues, keeping her aim true, right at Bea’s forehead. I wonder how much weapons training her father provided her. Apparently he taught her to escape having her wrists bound, which redirects my mind to quite inappropriate and unlikely possibilities.
“You’re actually quite a useful pawn, if that makes you feel better.” I’m going to kill Bea.
“Okay, okay, let’s calm the verbal sparring,” I ask as Alice takes a step closer to my cousin. I don’t doubt that Bea is quicker to the trigger than Alice is, but rage will do a lot for a woman, including making her impulsive. And I really don’t need either of them to shed blood today. “Bea, let me explain. Ilya told her about The Syndicate, so there’s no point in keeping secrets now.”
Bea’s glance toward me tells me she thinks there areplentyof reasons for secrets, but I ignore her, turning back to Alice and hoping neither of them choose to shoot me instead.